Cake
by islesofskye
Summary: Yes, being in a relationship with Molly Hooper definitely had its perks. For one thing, he was always well fed. Let it be known that Sherlock Holmes does in fact enjoy food. And her baking is always absolutely divine. Well, almost always. But this time, it wasn't her fault. Sherlock is just very bad at labeling when it comes to household supplies. [Previously on my Tumblr.]


**AN: **This has been on my Tumblr for a long time, and a friendly anon suggested that I move my things to one place. So I hope you all enjoyed this domestic Sherlolly. As always, please read and review! :)

-S

* * *

A crash, followed by a ringing clang of metal and a very loud, very offensive swear word echoed from the kitchen in 221b.

Opening his eyes with a frown and standing from his perch on his black leather chair, Sherlock peeked in cautiously. Molly was crouched down in front of a cupboard. She clutched the corner of her temple and winced with a grimace.

"Molly, what are you doing?" Sherlock said. She had somehow gotten an egg yolk stain on the shoulder of her light blue shirt and flour nearly everywhere else. He tried - and failed - to not laugh at the sight.

"I was looking for castor sugar," Molly replied. She stood up and brushed some of the flour off the front of her shirt. _Should have worn an apron. _"I don't suppose you have any? I almost couldn't find the eggs. It was difficult enough getting the carton out from behind Mr. Davies' head in your fridge. But it's fine. Normal sugar will do, I guess."

Her wide eyes glanced wistfully towards the chocolate bundt cake cooling on the counter. She shrugged - _Oh well - _and with familiarity, opened a cabinet door to pull out a small plate.

Sherlock watched with a small smile, leaning against the door frame, as she bounced around the kitchen. Taking a knife and fork from the drying rack by the sink, Molly cutting a generous slice of the cake and sprinkled it with sugar. She beamed at him, ushering him back towards the living room. Like a mother hen, she pushed him down on the sofa and eagerly gave him the plate.

"Well go on," she motioned with an open palm, grinning happily as she sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. "Tuck in. What do you think?"

Yes, being in a relationship with Molly Hooper definitely had its perks. For one thing, he was always well fed. The plate of warm chocolate cake was a prime example of it. Let it be known that Sherlock Holmes does in fact enjoy food. He just doesn't like the hassle of preparing it. Or cleaning up.

He scooped a piece of the cake into his mouth.

And it took every ounce of willpower he had to stop himself from spitting it back out. He tried to mask the involuntary facial scrunch of disgust into a strange sort of smile to no avail.

"Mmmm," he mumbled through the mouthful that just wouldn't go down. "It's really, um, it's really good, love. Thank you."

Her face fell almost audibly.

"You don't like it?" She said sadly.

"No, no, I do!" Abort. Abort. Abort. "It's delicious!"

Despite not having swallowed the first one, he forked in another mouthful enthusiastically to appease her.

He orchestrated an elaborate illusion so that it would make it seem as if he jumped off a building and lived.  
He could - and would - eat this damn cake and live, too. _I hope_, he thought.

"I don't understand," she continued softly, taking the plate from him. "I've made this cake a hundred times before!"

Grabbing the fork out of his hand, she took a bite and chewed. Her mouth downturned immediately, comically resembling the letter N. She spat the half chewed cake back onto the plate.

"Ugh, that's disgusting!" She exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened. I did the same thing I always do. I put the eggs, milk, sugar, chocolate powder and baking -"

Sherlock's ears pricked up at 'chocolate.'

"Did you bring the chocolate with you?" He asked with a tilt of his head.

"No, I found it on the top shelf. The Cadbury drinking chocolate can," Molly said, waving a hand dismissively. A frown was firmly fixed on her face as she stared down the offensive slice of cake from hell. "Maybe the milk was sour?"

"Moll - "

"But it wasn't. I checked. Maybe the eggs?" She was muttering to herself as she slowly stood up and headed back to the kitchen.

"Molly - " Sherlock followed her.

"Maybe being close to a decomposing head somehow affects their expiration date?"

He grabbed her wrist and spun her around.

"Molly it was the chocolate."

She stopped and squinted at him, her eyebrows simultaneously knitting and rising incredulously.

"The chocolate? No, the chocolate was perfectly fine."

"You found it on the top shelf?"

"Yes."

"In the Cadbury can?"

"Well, yes."

"That wasn't chocolate."

Sherlock paused for a beat to gather in her confused reaction before continuing. _Storing **that** expression in the mind palace._

"That was dirt."


End file.
